Molly's Nemesis
by cactusnell
Summary: Will Molly go to the dark side to one-up an annoying cousin? Probably. Sherlolly


Dr. Molly Hooper sat in her office in the basement pathology lab/morgue of St. Bart's hospital, contemplating just how badly today's mail had screwed up her weekend. The mail had contained a very fancy invitation to her cousin Lillibet's very fancy wedding. Evidently to a very fancy man. It wasn't the fact that she thoroughly disliked Lillibet, although she did indeed. But Lillibet was, in fact, the last unmarried cousin, aside from Molly, of course, of her generation. For the past few years, her Aunt Theresa, mother of the affianced woman, had been convincing family members that her daughter was biding her time, being selective of her many offers, picking and choosing from the cream of the crop of eligible men who constantly bombarded her with offers. Not like poor, older cousin Molly, who was pining away all alone in the big city.

Why hadn't her mother warned her that this was coming? But she couldn't really be angry with her. Molly knew that poor old Mum was probably holed up somewhere, trying to avoid the harsh barbs, disguised as sympathetic comforts, tossed her way by her obnoxious sister, and equally obnoxious niece. Knowing Mum, this was not an act of cowardice, but simply an effort to avoid a calamity similar to the Great Punchbowl Disaster of '03, when Mrs. Hooper had "accidently" covered her sister in a vibrantly colored fruit punch, complete with various fruits, which unfortunately clashed with her carefully selected attire, on the occasion of her daughter's Lillibet's eighteenth birthday. The sisters hadn't spoken for years after the incident, the silence only broken as Aunt Theresa found it more and more enjoyable to constantly ask about Molly's continued unmarried state. Not dating? Oh, poor dear. Broken engagement? Tsk, Tsk!

Mrs. Hooper was proud of her daughter. More than proud! Molly had used her intellect to escape from the expectations of her lower middle-class family, get herself a first-class education, and a career at one of the top hospitals in the country. Most of her family were, in fact, proud of her accomplishments, but there was always the "Aunt Theresa Element", who considered an unmarried woman a failure, no matter where her life had taken her. And that wouldn't have been so bad, if her aunt had simply been a kindly but misdirected woman merely set in her ways by the dictates of custom. But Aunt Theresa was a mean-spirited, jealous, judgemental snob, whose apple of a daughter had not fallen far from the tree. Molly was not looking forward to the trip home to attend this particular wedding.

She was just about ready to leave her office on this Friday afternoon, when her best friend came striding through the door. It had taken her almost seven years to finally come to the conclusion that Sherlock Holmes, world's only consulting detective, was, indeed, her best friend. There was a time, maybe three seconds ago, that she had wished that he was something more, but Molly had reconciled herself to the fact, ages ago, that that certainly wasn't going to happen. She had dated, still did, sometimes. She had even become engaged at one point during his two year absence as he was dismantling Moriarty's network while presumed dead, but had ended that shortly after his return. She knew that she would rather have Sherlock in her life as a friend, than to be distracted by a man she didn't love in a marriage she didn't really want.

It didn't take the detective long to see that something was bothering his pathologist.

"Problem?" he asked, without preamble.

"My cousin is getting married."

"Lillibet the Unlikeable?" Of course he would know that. He knew everything about her, it seemed. Molly simply nodded her assent.

"What do you need, Molly Hooper?"

"A stiff drink. Several stiff drinks, and a shoulder to cry on."

"I can supply the alcohol. As to the other, please try not to damage the fabric of my suit," Sherlock said as he took her by the elbow and led her away.

Molly decided that if this was going to turn into an evening of sloppy drinking, ranting, and possible death threats against family members, it should therefore take place in the privacy of her flat. Sherlock, seeing the stormclouds in the usually placid eyes of his pathologist, agreed that this was probably the best course of action. They stopped for Chinese takeaway and a bottle of excellent Irish whiskey on the way. Unbeknownst to the detective, Molly had already purchased another bottle of the same excellent whiskey on her lunch hour, and it was currently residing in her voluminous bag. If Sherlock was joining her, she wanted to make sure she had enough to truly drown her sorrows. She wanted to go down for the third time and not come up until possibly Monday morning!

When they got to the flat, Molly wasted no time in trying to get wasted. She had a shot of whiskey as an appetizer before her dinner. Another shot with dinner. She then decided that the food was interfering with her drinking, and chucked it in the trash bin. Sherlock smiled indulgently, never having seen his friend behave thus. When he remarked on this, she took another shot, winked, and said, "You ain't seen nothing yet, mate."

Finally, settling back on the couch, she spoke with more vitriol than Sherlock had heard from her in ages. "I really dislike my cousin."

"I dislike all my cousins!"

"You've got cousins? You never talk about them. Why do you dislike them?"

"I dislike most people, in case you haven't noticed."

"But why would you hate your family?"

"I never said I hated them, Molly. Do keep up. I dislike them, as in, I do not like them. There is a difference between like dislike and hate."

"Just like between like and love?"

"Precisely!"

"Okay, let me rephrase, then. I HATE my cousin!" Molly took another shot.

"Why, Molly, simply because she's getting married? That doesn't make much sense."

"I don't really know how to explain it. She's three years younger than me, yet all my life Lillibet has been the golden standard. Lillibet is tall! Lillibet is beautiful! And, oh my god, is she arrogant. And bossy! And spoiled rotten! They lived right across the street. Do you know what it's like to grow up with an arrogant, bossy, selfish, jealous…"

"You have met Mycroft, haven't you?"

Molly smiled, still sober enough to get the joke. Her expression softened as she said, "But Mycroft loves you, Sherlock, in his own way."

"I know. Unfortunately, his own way of loving me as we grew up, was to pommel me senseless, steal my candy, and belittle me endlessly." Sherlock grimaced, but softened when he said, "He did introduce me to the joys of tobacco, however, for which I will be forever grateful."

"Well, Lillibet hates me about as much as I hate her. I often wondered how my Mum and Aunt Theresa could be sisters. They're nothing alike. But then, Aunt Theresa is nothing like the rest of the family, either. Mum used to tell me fairy stories, and I decided that she was a changeling, left by evil fairies. She moved in across the street when her husband left her. I guess Lillibet couldn't have turned out any better, what with being raised by her. But since I've been in London, seeing what we see working with the police, I guess I've come to believe that some people are just born mean. Theresa and Lillibet are prime examples of the Yorkshire variety!" Another shot down the drain,

"So, when is this damned wedding, anyway?"

"Not for another six weeks. I could die of alcohol poisoning before then, couldn't I?" Molly asked Sherlock, almost hopefully. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, I'll have to clear my calendar."

"Sherlock, you don't…"

"Don't be silly, Dr. Hooper. You obviously want to put this harridan in her place. Do something mean, for a change. Join me on the dark side…"

"Do you have cookies?" Molly giggled, and took yet another shot.

"Cookies?!"

"Just something I saw on a tee shirt. Never mind!"

"You should show up with a rich, famous, and handsome boyfriend who hangs on your every word, and showers you with PDA's".

"Sherlock, how much have you had to drink? I'm supposed to be the sloppy drunk here, remember?" And just to prove how sloppy and drunk she could be, she downed another shot, almost missing her mouth in the process.

"Just enough. Your mother would love it. It's even better than the Great Punchbowl Disaster of '03!"

"How do you know about that?"

"Your mother told me about it a few months ago, when I took her to tea. By the way, she really is a charming woman. Very perceptive. I can see where you gets your brains from."

"You took my mother to tea, Sherlock. Why don't I know about this?"

"She asked me not to tell you. She didn't want you to think she was interfering in your life."

"Was she, Sherlock?"

"Was she what, Molly?"

"Interfering in my life, you prat!"

"Of course, that's what mothers do, isn't it? Do keep up, Dr. Hooper."

A suspicion started to grow in Molly's mind. She had been wondering why her mother had not given her a head's up about the upcoming nuptials. She had also been amazed that Sherlock Holmes had showed up in her office at just the right time.

"Sherlock, since you've become such great friends with my mother, do you speak to her often?"

"Molly, you know I seldom speak to people. I prefer to text…"

"Sherlock Holmes, has my mother been texting you?"

"Perhaps. Occasionally, maybe," he tried to be evasive, but the alcohol was affecting his ability to maintain the facade.

"So you knew about this wedding before I did…"

"Maybe…"

"And you and my mother cooked up this little fake boyfriend scheme together…"

"Why not? I meet the criteria, don't I? I'm semi-famous…"

"More infamous I should think…"

"I'm quite good-looking…"

"And so humble, too!"

"Don't be ridiculous, Molly! I am rather pretty. It's not something that I can take credit for, however. Purely the results of a genetic lottery. I won. Mycroft lost. Pure chance. It would be foolish not to acknowledge…"

"Oh, do shut up and pour me another drink!"

"I think you've had enough. Any more alcohol could put you beyond the legal limit for advised consent."

"Consent for what?" Molly began to look worried.

"Well get to that later. Soon. But later," Sherlock replied, beginning to sound a bit unsure of himself. "So far, we've got the handsome and famous covered, so in the interest of full disclosure, I think I should tell you that I'm rich, too"

Now it was Molly's turn to look a bit confused. "Just how wealthy can you be, Sherlock. I've heard you've eaten beans on toast for a week at a time because you have no other food in the flat. You borrow money for cab fare all the time. By the way, you owe me fifty-four pounds so far this month! And you have had that same purple shirt for at least five years!"

"Really, Molly, you observe but you don't really see! I currently own five of these same aubergine, Molly, not purple, thank you, shirts. I have disposed of four others due to wear. I keep buying them because I like the way you look at me when I wear them! And I have spent a small fortune on well-fitted black suits!" He rolled his eyes.

It was at this point that Molly really began to miss the shot glass which the detective had previously removed from her hand. "How rich, Sherlock?"

'It's family money, really. A family trust. A great big family trust. So big that no Holmes really has to work for a living. You know Scotland Yard doesn't pay me for consulting. How did you think I paid the bills?"

"You're really good at budgeting?" Molly asked weakly.

"So, to continue, your mother and I, both of us seeming to have a mean streak that you lack, decided that you should show up for the wedding with a rich, famous, and handsome fiance…"

"Fiance?"

"Your mother was willing to settle for boyfriend, but I decided to up the ante. If this is going to succeed, you had better wear this." Sherlock then reached into his pocket, pulled out a velvet box, and opened it to reveal the largest diamond ring Molly had ever seen not on the finger of a recently engaged starlet.

"How? What? Is this real?"

"Of course it is. I'm really good at budgeting, remember?"

"Really, Sherlock. All this for a fake engagement, just to rub this in my cousin's face!" She looked down at the large rock, or perhaps small boulder, her friend had placed on her finger. "What if I don't want to give it back? I mean, really, I could move to some exotic place and live off of this thing for a long time. Or buy a car. Or a fleet…"

"You can keep it if you want, but that means you'll have to marry me." He spoke a little more quietly, and a lot more soberly.

"You can't be serious, Sherlock!"

"What better way to one-up your nemesis of a cousin by living happily ever after with the man you love?"

"What makes you think I love you Sherlock? After all this time?"

"I really thought you had given up on me Molly. You lost your stammer. Your clumsiness. I've tried to make you blush by touching you occasionally. But it didn't seem to work anymore. I thought I had missed my chance. But...you still react to the purple shirt, so I'd thought I'd take a shot." He paused, looking at her expectantly. "So… Are you going to keep the ring?"

"Bloody hell, you're damn right I am!" Molly then launched herself across the couch, aimed directly at Sherlock Holmes, but missing him entirely. She looked up at him from her position on the floor just next to him, "Didn't you say your shirt was aubergine, Sherlock?"

"I think I should have cut you off sooner!" Sherlock said with deep regret. "Just how drunk are you?"

"Probably too drunk to make it to my bed, but just sober enough to know I want you to join me there!"

Sherlock gathered his newly minted fiance into his arms, picked her up to carry her into her bedroom. "This is why I wanted you sober enough to grant advised consent. You're a little too far gone tonight, Molly. I'm afraid we'll have to wait 'til morning to celebrate."

"I love you, Sherlock," Molly murmured into his neck.

"I know."

"I really do. I always have. I always will," she continued, as if trying to convince him of the fact.

"I believe you, Molly," Sherlock replied, smiling to himself.

"You're going to have to say it sometime, you know. I'm pretty drunk, so if you say it now, odds are I won't remember in the morning." Molly hoped this argument would work because she really needed to hear him say it.

"I love you, Molly. I always have. I always will."

"Damn it. I probably WILL forget that by morning!"

"Don't worry. I'll remind you," Sherlock said to the now sleeping woman as he climbed into bed beside her and wrapped her in his arms. "Everyday if I have to!"


End file.
